Two Can Play
by Anonnamous
Summary: 65th Games, District 9. The characters in the first 3 chapters are original. It's far from perfect, but I'm just trying to hone my writing skills and character development skills : Feedback welcome!


"I just want to go," my sister said.

I frowned. Looked away as I weaved my thick bushy hair into two fat braids. "We don't have to go yet. It's not even starting for another 45 minutes," I said.

"I know, but I just… want to get it over with." She paced the floor nervously. "It's our last year and after this year we won't even have to go anymore, and our family will have dodged the Reaping Day bullet and it'll be fine." She looked at our mother, who was engrossed in the Pre-Reaping coverage blaring from our tiny government-issued telescreen. Some of the wealthier families in the district can afford a larger telescreen and have access to a few entertainment programs from the Capitol, but most of us just have our little 8 x 11 government-issued screens that only go on when the Capitol wants them on- if there's an important announcement, or of course for the Hunger Games- and go off when the Capitol wants them off.

"Mom!" Amber barked suddenly. Mom jumped a little and glanced up. "What, honey?"  
"Don't _you_ think we should get going?"

She sighed. "I hate for this moment to ever come. I dread it every year. You know that. But you do have to go soon. See, some of the spots up front are already filling up." She was watching local coverage of our district. She gestured to the screen. I recognized a few familiar faces, school friends and acquaintances, some in line to check in and some milling around waiting, having already checked in.

"Let me call your brother and father in so they can say goodbye." She stood up and poked her head out the back door. "Will! Harvey! The girls are leaving soon!"

Our father and brother quickly bounded in, sweaty and dusty. Technically, there's no real need to do any work on Reaping Day. But my dad and Harvey would never sit around idle if they didn't have to. They actually really enjoy working, both at the District's soybean plant and on our little plot of land here at home. Dad and Harvey hugged Amber first. "You'll be fine," Harvey told her. "I made it all five years. You will too."

"I know," she grinned. She looked like she actually meant it, too. Maybe she did. Every year on Reaping Day Amber acts cool and calm, only to be a jittery mess of previously unreleased nervousness once the Reaping is over and she, in fact, is not called.

They hugged me next, and my dad gave one of my braids a quick tug. "You'll be fine too, Dusty," he said awkwardly. "Nobody looks forward to this, but you just gotta get out there and beat the odds and then you two'll be back here in time to help me and Harvey finish weeding."

"Oh, my," Mom said suddenly. We swiveled around to look at her. "What is it?" said Harvey.

She nodded to the screen, where a small boy was registering for the Reaping. I recognized him instantly. His name was Roper, and he was in Amber's and my class in school. The Capitol reporter who was covering our district chirped, "This is sixteen-year-old Roper Maldonado, registering for his very last Reaping. If the Maldonado name sounds familiar, you may remember his brothers, Alex and Cheyne Maldonado, both fallen tributes from the 62nd and 64th Hunger Games, respectively. Now the sole surviving child of his parents, Roper- who was born with a rare form of dwarfism that has stunted his physical growth to that of a six-year-old child- hopes to avoid their same fate."

We all stared quietly as Roper stoically registered and took a place to wait for the Reaping. Several people up front moved out of the way so that he might get a better view. You could tell he was scared, but he tried to hide it. The camera cut to a shot of a weeping woman in the background. "Mary Maldonado: Mother of Fallen Tributes and Disabled Boy," read the caption.

"That's disgusting that they exploit us like that," Harvey blurted. "I bet the Capitol's gonna rig it so he gets picked. They would love that. Take the family's last kid- strike one. Take a _disabled_ kid- strike two. This could be the best Hunger Games for them since they picked that pregnant girl a few years back."  
"Harvest," my dad said sharply, and Harvey shut up. But we all felt exactly the same way. Felt the fear for Roper, the anguish for his mother, and the indignity of having our district's tragedy highlighted as entertainment.

"Alright girls, you better get going," Mom said finally. We knew she and Dad and Harvey would stay home. Some of the parents and family members come out to support the kids on Reaping Day, but they don't have to, and really if you do get picked it just makes it harder. "If you see Roper or Mrs. Maldonado, tell them… tell them I'm thinking of them, okay?"

"Of course," I said gently. We all looked at each other for a few seconds, then Amber and I gave a little smile and wave, and we were off.

It doesn't take us very long to get to the Reaping. They hold it at the District Justice Department, right across the street from the local elementary school and only a few blocks from where we live. We all gather outside on a big field, separated by gender and age. When the Tributes are drawn, it's done on an outdoor stage against the gleaming backdrop of the building. The Justice Departement used to be up north, but about six or seven years ago, the Capitol decided that moving it across from our elementary school would be "a sobering reminder of the ultimate sacrifice that our children may one day need to make, as potential future tributes." Plus, most of our district's population is condensed here in the southern region. So it's they moved it. Harvey's first Reaping was the last one they held up north, and I remember they had to bus all the kids up there. It had also been raining and so the dirt roads on which the buses had been traveling turned to mud. Harvey also told us that several of the buses broke down. I'm glad they don't hold it up north anymore.

Amber looked at me as we walked. She gave me a nervous smile and raised her eyebrows. "Last one," she said.

"Last one," I echoed, less cheerfully. Our family had cheated fate so many times, so many years. First Harvey. Year after year, for five years, we all held our breaths hoping that our parents' firstborn, our seemingly immortal big brother, would not be chosen as a Tribute. We never took extra tesserae for additional entries into the Tribute pool, but every year, your name goes in one more time than the year before. So by the time he was sixteen, Harvey's name was in five times. He never got called, though. The night of his last Reaping, we celebrated his good fate all night long at home. Mom baked sweet rolls and we played games and sang songs and laughed. It was great.

When Amber and I faced our first Reaping five years ago, we were terrified. Amber promised me, "If they call you, I'll volunteer for you." I was silent. I couldn't even imagine the possibility. I couldn't promise her the same because I had no idea how I would react. If they took my other half, my own twin sister, and threw her into certain, bloody death.

But they didn't call her. And they didn't call me, either. And over the years, Amber has developed a certain air of confidence about the Reapings that I just don't have. "You have to be confident," she told me as we approached the registration table. "You know the odds really _are_ ever in our favor."

I gave her half a smile and placed my finger on the registration scanner at the table. "Name?" Asked the Peacekeeper who was manning the registration table.

"Golden Korr," I replied. I don't ever remember a time when I was actually called Golden. I've been Dusty since I was a toddler. It fits me much better. There's nothing shiny or precious about me. Dull brown hair, ruddy skin, dirty fingernails.

Amber, on the other hand, personifies her name. We might be identical twins, but there's a glow about her that makes her the beauty of the family hands down. What's ruddy about my skin is rosy to hers. My dull brown hair is her warm brown hair. She's always been the smarter, the kinder, the friendlier of the two of us.

The Peacekeeper glared at us. "You two are almost the last ones," she scowled. "Get on over there with the others. We're going to start in a few minutes."

We tried to jostle our way toward the front; Amber likes being up front anyway, and I was hoping to see Roper, but it was getting crowded and so we had to stand toward the back. Oh well. The makeshift stage is elevated; everyone can see it. And the giant telescreen next to the stage is impossible to miss. While we were waiting for the Reaping to begin, the telescreen projected the same miserable images that it does every year. The images of war, floods, earthquakes, fires, nuclear meltdowns, which had nearly ruined civilization once and for all. The map of Panem, "A shining Capitol, a true City of Light, ringed by thirteen districts." Images of Capitol doctors treating sick kids, Capitol ladies spooning out soup to hungry people (who do they think is going to believe this garbage?), and then the screen gets darker and then more images of war. The Districts' Rebellion. Then another map of Panem, this time with District 13 blacked out. Then the words slowly scroll across the screen:

"AS RETRIBUTION FOR THE DISTRICT REBELLION, DISTRICT 13 WAS OBLITERATED AND ITS CITIZENS PERISHED. TWELVE DISTRICTS REMAIN AND HAVE PLEDGED THEIR REMORSE FR REBELLION AND FULL SUPPORT OF THEIR DEAR CAPITOL. AS TOKENS OF THEIR GRATITUDE TO THE CAPTIOL, AND AS A REMINDER OF WHAT MAY HAPPEN ON A MUCH LARGER SCALE SHOULD A SECOND REBELLION EVER OCCUR, EACH DISTRICT WILL OFFER ONE MALE AND ONE FEMALE TRIBUTE BETWEEN THE AGES OF 12 AND 16 FOR A LIFE OR DEATH COMPETITION KNOWN AS THE HUNGER GAMES. FOR 23 OF THESE TRIBUTES, THERE WILL BE NO RETURN. THEIR MEMORIES WILL LIVE ON AS REMINDERS OF THE FATE THAT COULD BEFALL EVERY CITIZEN SHOULD THE CAPITOL'S SOVEREIGNTY AND AUTHORITY EVER BE QUESTIONED AGAIN.

…BUT HOPE REMAINS, FOR ONE TRIBUTE WILL EMERGE VICTORIOUS FROM EACH ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES. LIFELONG FAME, FORTUNE, AND ADORATION WILL BE THEIRS. COULD IT BE…. YOURS?"

"Ugh," I muttered to nobody in particular. Maybe they wouldn't do this today. Maybe lightning would suddenly strike the stage and they'd have to reschedule. Maybe our Capitol ambassador, who draws the names every year, would fall violently ill. Maybe…

Amber grabbed my arm. "Oh thank God. They're starting," she breathed. I looked up to see a dazzling dark-skinned man in a glittering gold jacket stroll up to the stage, escorted by peacekeepers. Jonathon Jasper. Our ambassador was here, and he was the picture of health. So much for _that _wish.

"Hello, boys. And. Girls!" He shouted, flashing a mouthful of straight, shiny, solid gold teeth. I wonder if he used to have really nice white teeth but he went and got gold ones because they do stuff like that in the Capitol. Besides the stupid teeth, he really is gorgeous. He can't be more than thirty-five years old. He's been our ambassador for maybe the past eight or nine years. "I am your ambassador and escort, Jonathon Jasper, and I will have the honor of selecting one boy and one girl from this fine-looking group to come back to the Capitol with me and train for the 65th Annual Hunger Games! So can I just wish you all a Happy. Hunger. GAMES!"

I want to like Jonathon, but I just can't. A few of us smiled nervously, but nobody cheered or anything. The Peacekeepers applauded, though, and there's enough of them that at least Jonathon got some positive feedback.

"All right, everybody, if you would, let's please stand (we were anyway) in respectful silence for the playing of the National Anthem." Jonathon nodded at the screen, and the short instrumental played, as the screen displayed a montage of more bullcrap images of Capitol citizens helping losers like us, interspersed with some of the better images of the Districts. Factories, Oceans, Farms, Orchards, Power Plants, Trains traversing tree-covered mountains. I'm pretty sure the image of the cornfield and maybe the one factory is us.

"Now before the Tributes are drawn, let's give a warm welcome to the winner of the 55th Annual Hunger Games, your District Nine Champion, Tauruuuuuuuus Givennnnnns!" Jonathon shouted enthusiastically. We did give some token applause to Taurus as he made the stage. He's three years older than Harvey, though he's from up north and so Harvey didn't know him from school or anything. There have been 64 Hunger Games and Taurus is the only surviving District 9 Victor. We had a woman victor, too. She'd won 25 or so years ago. Her name was Paz Something-or-Other and she was big and hulking with very long hair. She died a few years ago. Jonathon had told us it was due to a massive heart attack. The rumor mill says it was suicide.

Anyway, now we just have Taurus, and so he has to show up at every Reaping and give a little speech to our District. He also has to help mentor the Tributes and coach them on how to have a decent shot at winning. He grinned as he took the microphone and ran a hand through his shaggy hair. "Alright guys, we can DO THIS!" He shouted like it was a sports match. "I did this! You can do it too!" Still smiling, he darted a glance at Jonathon, who rolled his hand in a very subtle "keep-going" gesture. "And, um, we should be glad that the Capitol is… there for us..?" He looked at Jonathon again, who gave a tiny nod. Taurus sighed and plopped into the velvet chair they have on the stage for him. He fixed his eyes on a spot on the stage floor and stared.

"There for us?" I hissed to Amber. "Freaking KIDDING me?"

"They made him say that," she hissed back.

"I know that! I just can't believe they think we're gonna—"

"All right, the names of every youth between the ages of 12 and 16 in District 9 have been placed in this cage you see behind me," Jonathon began as the Peacekeepers rolled a huge wire cylindrical cage crammed with paper onto the stage. "Obviously we know that twelve year old have their name entered only once, while thirteen year olds do twice, and so forth. Those of you noble souls who have placed your name in additional times for extra rations, I truly say to you, may the odds be _ever_ in your favor." Another grin, and he turned to Taurus. "What do you say, champ? Would you like to select the lucky Tributes?"

Taurus looked up, shaking his head quickly. "No, I…"

Jonathon raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. "Fair enough. How about you just turn the crank to mix up the names a bit?"

Taurus knew not to argue. He shuffled over to the cage and turned the crank as the pink and blue papers inside rustled and shuffled over each other. Jonathon reached in and grabs a pink paper. "Looks like it's Ladies First," He winked.

Okay, so it could be me or Amber. But it probably won't be. It shouldn't be. My name's in five times and hers is in five times. Ten out of… thousands? It just needs to not be either of us and then we're fine, this is over for our family, it will be over…

Amber squeezes my hand. Both of our hands are wet and smelly with sweat.

Jonathon unfolds the paper.

Amber digs her nails into my hand.

Jonathon leans into the microphone.

"Is there an Amber Korr here with us today?"  
********************************************************************

Okay, he didn't just say that. Not Amber. Maybe another Amber. Not my Amber. No. No. We were so close, so close, our family was so close to escaping the Hunger Games, we were supposed to go back home and help finish weeding and then maybe help Mom make supper and nononononono

I tried to keep my hold on Amber's hand, but it slipped away. She smiled and walked up to the stage. The day before our second Reaping, when we were thirteen, she had told me that if she ever got picked, she would smile and act like it was an honor, because then maybe the Capitol would like her and she would get more sponsors. Of course, she didn't actually want to get picked, nor did she expect to be. But here we were three years later, and here she was doing exactly what she said she'd do.

I noticed that she was shaking as she walked. I hoped she wouldn't fall or pass out.

"If they call you, I'll volunteer for you," she had told me at that first Reaping. I knew it was as true now as it was then. She'd do it for me.

But I couldn't do it for her. I couldn't do anything. I watched, chest heaving, eyes watering, as she shakily made her way up to Jonathon and gave him a hug. I felt eyes on me, people trying to gauge my reaction at having my identical twin get picked as a tribute- tribute, walking corpse, whatever you want to call her- and I hated the feeling of their eyes on me.

I kept thinking, it's a mistake. Amber is not an uncommon name. It's another Amber. Maybe there's another Amber Korr in our district, even.

I also thought, I hope she doesn't suffer when she dies.

"Ladies and gentlemen, look at this. What a class act, huh? How about a round of applause for Amber Korr?" Jonathon called brightly. The Peacekeepers clapped. Amber continued to shake, smile frozen in place.

"Now for our male Tribute! Taurus, how about another few turns of the crank, mix those names up a bit," Jonathon continued. Taurus reluctantly turned the crank. Jonathon reached in and grabbed a pink paper, so he shook it back into the cage. He had to do that twice more before he finally grabbed a blue paper. He unfolded it, paused, and looked down at the front of the crowd. Everybody knew what he was going to say before he even said it.

"Mr. Roper Maldonado," he announced somberly. The crowd erupted into shouts of protest. People all around me booed and hollered. They had forgotten about me and Amber already, that fast, and who could blame them? Even I forgot for half a second as the injustice of Roper's fate boiled inside of me. "Roper, come on up here, buddy," Jonathon called over the angry crowd.

"Not Roper," I whispered. I could hear loud wailing and knew that Mrs. Maldonado had to be somewhere close by. The wailing grew louder as she passed by me, trying to fight through the throng of kids. "Even I'd go in for him if I could," I muttered to myself.

"You would?" someone shouted. I startled. I hadn't even known anyone had heard me. But now I realized that a few people had, and were staring at me even more curiously than they did when Amber got picked.

"Well," I began. Had I really meant it? I couldn't go in for him anyway, obviously. They need a boy and a girl. What I'd really meant was, "We can't let Roper go in. They'll eat him alive. And we can't let his mom…" I looked at Mrs. Maldonado, who was still making her way toward the stage, shouting a mixture of English and some other language. I heard her cry, "My baby! My baby!"

"Wait! Mary! She says she'd do it. The other girl's sister would go for him!" Someone else shouted. Roper's mother turned around. Suddenly a _lot_ of people started looking at me. I glanced up at the stage. Roper had made his way onstage. He looked like an ant compared to Jonathon and Taurus and even Amber. Amber was staring at me, wide-eyed, mouth open. I saw her mouth my name. "Dusty." Roper was trying to say something. Jonathon had to take the microphone off the stand and hand it to him. "Mommy, no, it's ok," he squeaked.

That was it. Hearing him, in his child's voice, telling his Mommy not to be sad. "Yes, I would," I said louder. "We can't do this, guys. We can't do this to him."

Mrs. Maldonado was looking at me now, too. I saw nothing but desperation in her eyes. She didn't try to stop me. I was offering a possible solution to keep her last child, her baby, alive. I know she didn't want me or Amber or anybody else up there. But her maternal instinct was too strong for her to protest. I didn't blame her.

People started nudging me toward the stage. I walked up, still not entirely sure what I was doing or what was going on, and still fairly certain that I couldn't take Roper's place anyway because I am a girl.

Jonathon looked down at me. Then he looked over at Amber. His eyes widened. "Come on up here, young lady," he said slowly. I did as he said. "And what is your name?"

"Dusty Korr," I mumbled, dazed, terrified. Now Amber and I were both shaking.

He pointed at Amber. "Twins?"

We nodded in unison.

"And am I correct in understanding that you would rather be a Tribute yourself than see Roper here go in? What about your own sister?"

Was he asking me, would I go in for Amber? I didn't know what he was asking me. All I knew was that these were the two absolute worst case scenario tributes that could have possibly been picked. Amber, my twin sister, the one person in the world who's literally been there for me since the day we were born. Amber told me stories at night when we couldn't sleep; she's done that for as long as I can remember, even back when we were toddlers and the stories were mostly about rainbows and kitty cats. Amber pretended to be me in school when I had to give oral presentations because I hated it so much. Amber made me a necklace of clover as a get-well present when I had the flu when we were little kids. Amber vowed that she wouldn't get married until I did, too, so we could have a double wedding. Amber and I are more than twins, more than best friends, we _are_ each other in a way I can't explain.

And then for the boy tribute. Harvey was right, they had probably rigged it so Roper would get picked for the fun of it. Roper, who needed a booster seat in school so he could use the student desks. Roper, who ate with a child-size spoon because regular size spoons don't fit in his hands. Roper, who never had an unkind word for anybody in his whole life. I remember his brothers used to give him piggyback rides to school sometimes. His brother Cheyne had been picked just last year. Our whole District was rooting hard for him. He was one of the last five left in the Games. He had been climbing up a very sheer cliff in an attempt to find shelter in a cave which the Gamemakers had hinted was nearby. He fell and broke several limbs as well as his skull. Nobody came to help him and he languished for two days, maybe. Also, there never was any cave.

I shook my head and gulped. I wanted to cry, but I was afraid that if I cried, Amber or Roper might start crying too. "It shouldn't be either one of them!" I said in a choked whisper. Everybody was looking at me. I knew I might get in trouble with the Peacekeepers if I said the wrong thing, but it was too late to stop now. "But his mom-" I pointed to Roper- "she shouldn't lose all of her children."

The crowd murmured assent. "Damn right she shouldn't," someone hollered. A few people began chanting, "Let him go! Let him go!" but that quickly stopped when the Peacekeepers fired a few warning shots into the air. The discontent remained, though.

Jonathon began to sense that things were getting just beyond his control. "Well, you're a noble young lady, yes ma'am," he said loudly, patting me on the shoulder. "Classy just like your sister. But it's one boy and one girl, and I'm so sorry that you feel the way you do, but—"

He broke off mid-sentence and turned his head away. A few seconds later, he spoke loudly and with false cheer into the mike. "Ladies and gentlemen, if I can just ask you to remain right where you are for now, I'm going to get back to you in one second. Please enjoy these interview clips from past Tributes in the meantime."

More murmurings from the crowd, this time more confused than indignant, as the telescreen projects a montage of pre-Game interviews with Tributes from the past several years. I wanted to ask Amber what she thinks is going on, but I can't. I was afraid she was mad at me for not volunteering for her. I felt like I'd betrayed her. I was terrified that she hated me and at the same time, I 'd understand if she did.

While Jonathon stood on the side of the stage, gazing into the distance, the interview clips played loudly over triumphant-sounding instrumental music. I glanced nervously at the crowd. Thousands of people, most of them kids, all looking as confused as I was. Many of them also looked relieved, however, because they knew that no matter what was going on up onstage, their names had not been called and that was that. I thought of our parents and Harvey at home. Our mom was probably hysterical. I hoped Dad and Harvey wouldn't cry, that they were staying strong for her. I looked directly below the stage and saw Mrs. Maldonado, her face still streaked with tears, but no longer wailing openly.

The music faded, and the images on the telescreen slowly melted away and were replaced by close-ups of Amber, Roper, and myself on the stage. Jonathon strode back to us as though nothing had ever happened. "Ladies and Gentlemen of District 9, I have a very special announcement for you," he said eagerly. Everybody was silent. All eyes were on Jonathon.

I suddenly realized that at some point during this madness, Amber had inched her way next to me and was gripping my hand again. I was still afraid to look at her, but I felt tremendously relieved to have her hand in mine. Our nails dug into each other's skin. We would probably have matching bloody little half-moon nail marks from each other.

"Our compassionate friends at the Capitol are pleased to make a very, very special exception to District 9 and pardon Mr. Roper here-"

"Ay, _gracias a Dios mio_!" Mrs. Maldonado screamed, sinking to her knees and sobbing.

"—and will allow Miss Dusty Korr to take his place in the 65th Annual Hunger Games! Which means, District 9, that instead of one boy and one girl, your Tributes this year will be the. Identical. Incredible. Korr. TWINS!"

I felt blood drip down my hand from where Amber's nails were digging into me, but it didn't hurt. Breathing hurt. A lead brick was pressing against my lungs and I couldn't breathe. My legs turned to mush and I couldn't stand. I started to sink down and felt a jerk as Amber quickly pulled me back up to standing. The crowd was going wild. Cheering, booing, screaming. Mrs. Maldonado ran onto the stage, ran in front of me, grabbed Roper, and carried him off in her arms, still sobbing. I watched her run away with him. I watched her run until I couldn't see her anymore.

A Peacekeeper grabbed my left arm, a Peacekeeper grabbed Amber's right arm, and we were still holding hands as they walked us off the stage and marched us into the back of the Justice Building, down a string-bean-colored hallway, and into a small room with soft leather couches and an end table. "Your family lives nearby, yes?" said one of the Peacekeepers. I nodded. I think Amber nodded. "Then they should be here shortly. You'll have one hour with them."

As soon as the Peacekeepers shut the door, I sank into one of the couches. It still hurt to breathe and I still couldn't look at Amber. I couldn't believe I did this. I couldn't believe this was happening. We were supposed to be on our way home by now. We were supposed to celebrate tonight. And I was still not entirely certain how I managed to volunteer for the most horrible, scary, sadistic nightmare possible. I kept wondering if there was a way to get out of this, to turn the clock back ten minutes and not volunteer for Roper. Because volunteering for Roper was a very nice thing to do in theory, but now, I was actually going to die. I hoped I died fast. Maybe a knife to the heart or something quick like that. I didn't want to die like Cheyne did last year.

"Dusty?" her voice sounded like brittle onion skins. I couldn't look at her. I shook my head and bit my lip. "Dusty," she repeated, stronger now. "Dusty, look at me."  
I did, and the tears were falling freely now from both of our faces.

"Dusty, you did the right thing," she practically shouted. I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut. I was so ashamed that I didn't volunteer for her, and so scared that I volunteered at all. "Yes," she continued, "because what would be the point if you went in for me?" I couldn't answer her, but I also couldn't bear to ask her if that was true, then why would she do it for me. "But there was a reason, a good reason, to go in for Roper. You did our family proud. Our whole District."

I nodded, still sniffling. As much as I hated to admit it, I was really glad that Amber was here with me. She was smart. Maybe she could figure out something. "Amber, what are we going to do?" I finally whispered.

She looked down and shook her head. "I don't know." She took a deep breath. "We have to at least make it look like we're trying, though, you know?"  
I did know. The Capitol does not look kindly on the Tributes—or their families- who attempt an easy death on their own. Once, a Tribute committed suicide while in Training. Her sister and brother were suspiciously picked as the Tributes from their District the very next year. Another time, a Tribute stepped off her platform too early and was instantly blown to bits. When it was revealed through her diary that she had done it on purpose in order to avoid suffering a slower death in the Games, her family's rations were suspended indefinitely. No, you can't go out the easy way, or your family is dishonored and subsequently punished.

"I just want to go fast," I said, with my eyes closed. "A knife to the heart, or something. Maybe I'll be knocked out when it happens—"  
"Dusty, stop," she said, and by now her own voice was thick with tears. I was sorry I'd said anything.

When Mom, Dad, and Harvey walked though the door, I was relieved to see that Dad and Harvey were not crying. Mom was, but I expected that. Amber and I hugged each of them fiercely, gripping, as if they could save us. Oh, as if.

Harvey spoke first. "That was amazing. Unreal. I… I don't know what else to say to you guys." He half smiled. "You did a good job up there, Amber. They're gonna like you. The sponsors are gonna be good to you.

"And you," he said to me, giving my braids a quick tug. "Dusty, Jeez. You saved Roper's life."

I shrugged and looked away. What could I say? He was right, but what good did it do me now? I was going to die in two weeks, and quickly if I was _lucky_. I didn't know how to tell him that most of me wished I could go back and undo it.

"You think Roper's mom's gonna be okay?" I asked. It was a stupid thing to say.

Harvey sighed. "Capitol liked her. I heard the Peacekeepers here at the JD saying they're gonna make a new rule that from now on, parents and family member _have_ to come watch the Reaping, she gave 'em such a show." Then suddenly, as if just remembering my question, "Yeah. She's gonna be okay."

I felt like I should say more to my big brother, who I loved and who I would probably never see again. But I didn't know what. Neither, apparently, did Amber. Harvey sat awkwardly on the floor in front of the couches, although there was room enough on them for all of us, while my mother positioned herself in between Amber and me. She put an arm around each of us. "I remember when you two girls were born," she said, sniffling, smiling slightly and looking up. "I had no idea I was having twins. Mrs. Miller from down the street, she came to deliver you two, and Dusty, you were born, and I was so happy to have my little girl. And then she said, "My God, Cera, there's another one!" Mom smiled broader and stroked Amber's hair. "And I had my little girls, my Golden and my Amber."

"Mom" I whispered after a minute. "I don't wanna go."

"I don't want you to go," she whispered back. "I had sixteen years with my baby girls. It's not enough. I'm not ready to let you go.

"But I'm so proud, so proud of you." She tilted our chins so that we were eye-to-eye with her. "You girls are too good for this. You shouldn't have to do this. I'm so sorry that you do."

We nodded, looked away. Our dad, who had been hanging back near the door, walked over to us and knelt down. "I want you girls to know how much I love you," he said thickly. Oh, I hoped he wouldn't cry.

"We love you too, Dad," Amber said softly. "It's gonna be okay. Even if it's not… a happy ending, it's gonna be okay."

Mom reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out two twine necklaces with small wooden cross pendants. "When we left to come out here, these were hanging on the front door." She gave one to each of us. I fingered the rough wood of the cross, rubbed my fingers over the dirt accumulated on it. Turned it over and saw the initials A.M. carved into the back. As soon as I saw that, I remembered that I'd seen these necklaces before. I grabbed Amber's, flipped it over to see the C.M. I knew would be carved on the back. "You got-"

"-Cheyne's," she finished for me. "Oh my God. Their tokens. Alex's and Cheyne's tokens! How…"

"The Capitol sends tokens of fallen tributes back to their families," Harvey reminded us. "I'm thinking either Roper, or his mom, or both dropped these off for you two."

"You don't think that's bad luck, do you?" Dad murmured, mostly to Mom. "I mean, using tokens of…"  
"It's all right, Dad," I said, still rubbing the wooden cross. "I wanna keep it."

"I think they were the Maldonados' way of saying thank you." Mom smiled through her tears again.

"What do you think the cross means?" Amber wondered.

Harvey shrugged. "Maybe it means something to them. Maybe it's just a good luck charm."

"I hope not," I said before I could stop myself. "If it is, it obviously doesn't work." I looked at Harvey and instantly regretted my words as much as I could tell he regretted his. He hadn't meant to make me feel bad. "It's okay, Harvey." I reached over and gave him one last hug. Amber joined in, and Mom said, "Stay like that for a moment. I just want to see my three children together for a minute." I glanced at her and Dad and saw that they were both watching intently, drinking in every last detail of how Harvey and Amber and I all looked together, healthy and whole and embracing. Mom finally leaned in and whispered something tightly in Amber's ear, so tightly that even I couldn't hear it. Amber just looked at her for a second, then nodded reassuringly and said, "Of course." Then Mom circled around the group hug, over to me, and whispered in my ear,  
"_Whatever happens, don't hurt your sister_."

I was expecting, "I love you," or "Good luck," or even some bullcrap statement like, "I know you can do this." I looked at her and saw that she was utterly serious. Was this the same thing she'd told Amber? If so, why did she have to whisper it to each of us separately? I finally mouthed, "Okay," and her face softened a bit.

I didn't know what Mom had said to Amber, but I did know that neither she, nor Dad, nor Harvey wished us good luck or gave us any hope of leaving the Games alive, at least not out loud, during that last visit.

Because they knew, as well as we did, that there was no hope to give.


End file.
